


Baby It's Cold Outside

by ObsessionWithDetection



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 07:02:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsessionWithDetection/pseuds/ObsessionWithDetection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas Eve and Sherlock has John join him on an investigation in the countryside. John never thought they'd get snowed in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby It's Cold Outside

It was Christmas eve. How Sherlock had gotten him to go out on a case on Christmas eve was beyond him, not to mention they were actually outside of London for once, it'd taken them the whole morning just to get to the crime scene. John even had a date for dinner, but now he wondered if he should call Sarah and tell her he might be late...

In all honesty John knew exactly how Sherlock had gotten him to come out to this crime scene with him on Christmas eve. Sherlock had said "jump" and John replied with "how high?" John couldn't say no to Sherlock, and definitely couldn't pass up the chance to see a little danger. But when they'd finally arrived at the crime scene it seemed as if it was just another holiday suicide. Sherlock insisted it was something more, but upon inspecting the body and finding out the victim's history it was pretty clear that is was just a suicide. Why the police had even felt the need to call Sherlock in on this one escaped John. Especially noting the fact that this was outside of London and in a very quiet and small community. Maybe that's exactly why they called Sherlock? Because nothing ever happened here and the police had no idea what to do with themselves when something finally did happen? Sherlock kept insisting there was something more, but couldn't say anything outright just yet. All that nonsense about not making any theories before having all the facts first and whatnot. John had been at this with Sherlock for a bit by now, and thought he was getting better with his deductions. He saw an open and shut case of suicide, nothing interesting whatsoever.

So the good doctor decided he would just have himself a seat on the sofa, while waiting for Sherlock to finish his observations. He decided he should text Sarah, just to give her a heads up in case he did end up being late.

Out on a case with Sherlock. Pretty open-shut case. Should be back way before dinner.

-JW

While he was sitting, waiting to see if Sarah responded he received a text from Sherlock, who was in the other room.

Not that obvious, we'll be here awhile. Cancel your date.

-SH

John looked around, just to make sure Sherlock wasn't in the room somehow reading his messages over his shoulder. But looking around just confirmed that the detective was hunched over some footprints, which he seemed to be engrossed in. So John decided to send a text back, knowing that he really shouldn't fight fire with fire, but he didn't care.

Not canceling my date. I'll leave you here by yourself if it gets too late.

-JW

After John sent that text message he received a reply from Sarah.

Hopefully it all goes well. Can't wait to see you!

~HopeIsKey~

John smiled. It'd been awhile since he and Sarah had a proper date, and it'd been and even longer time since John had last had a date for Christmas eve. Though he had to admit to hating that tacky little signature thing Sarah had on all of her text messages. He'd always hated those, how sometimes they'd be sent in a separate message because the character limit had already been reached... New text from Sherlock.

Your girlfriend is dull and annoying. Her messages reflect this quite effectively.

-SH

A second later there was another one.

Also, you won't be going on that date.

-SH

John looked around again, but Sherlock still seemed to be preoccupied by the crime scene. John sighed, giving up this texting war he was only bound to lose. He crossed his arms, sitting on the sofa of a man who had just recently most definitely committed suicide. It was actually quite comfortable, made even more so by the fact that is was nice and warm inside the house despite the chilly weather outside. The thermostat in the house had been turned up a bit when they'd found the body so the police had kept it that way.

It was only just about noon but John had to admit to being tired. Sherlock had woken him up at around five this morning for this case, and claimed that was only after waiting a whole hour so the doctor could get the required amount of sleep to function properly. (Apparently something the consulting detective didn't understand he needed as well.) And John hadn't gotten to bed until very late the night before, and hadn't gotten a very good nights rest at all due to some minor nightmares... So John wasn't at all surprised when he started to nod off. There were plenty of police officers standing around, obviously having no idea what they should do with themselves while Sherlock was at work. He got the attention of the closest one.

"Could you do me a favor and wake me up when he's finally done?" John gestured to Sherlock, the officer nodded. "Thanks." He gave the officer a tired smile, which the young man returned.

Between the silence, the warm air, and the comfy couch it wasn't long at all before the good doctor was fast asleep.

...

When he woke again it was dark out and he cursed audibly. He checked his phone, which was on the coffee table in front of him instead of in his pocket, something he didn't remember doing. He also didn't remember actually lying down, he was sleeping sitting up last time he checked. The throw was also placed over him, which he now kicked off as he sat up, opening his phone. It was a little past six. He cursed again.

He had seven text messages, no less than five were from Sarah:

How's the case going? Sherlock figure it out yet?

~HopeIsKey~

Hey, what time did you say you'd be picking me up again? I want to be ready in time

~HopeIsKey~

Hellloooo?

~HopeIsKey~

Aren't our reservations for six thirty? Are you on your way here yet?

~HopeIsKey~

Oh, okay. See you around then, I guess.

~HopeIsKey~

The other two were from Sherlock:

This text is an experiment

-SH

Took care of your date for you

-SH

"I sent the first one to figure out where your phone was and how deeply you were sleeping. The second one was a bit redundant but fun." John turned towards that voice with a grimace, trying his hardest to send his hatred through a look.

"Glares don't work on me, much less so when your hair is so completely tousled." Sherlock grinned at him, he'd been behind the couch but now he came around and sat next to John, but far away enough so he could escape if John suddenly turned violent. John decided to look at the message he suspected Sherlock had sent from his own phone to Sarah. There was a message in his sent box that he didn't remember typing, just as he'd thought.

Case is more complicated that I thought, Sherlock is still working and needs me here with him. Won't be able to make it tonight.

-JW

"I can't believe she fell for that. I don't write messages like that and I would have most assuredly apologized profusely for standing her up on Christmas eve." John sent a glare at Sherlock, only to remember what the detective had said about his hair. He combed his hair down with his fingers and tried the glare again, only to receive a very amused smile from Sherlock.

John stood up. "I don't plan on standing her up on Christmas eve either! I will be quite a bit late, we'll miss our reservation, but we can always just go somewhere else."

"You plan on finding an open place on Christmas eve that's not already full?" Sherlock asked doubtfully.

"Yes, I do. And I will. I'm going to head back to London and we'll have a very late, but still enjoyable dinner. If I stand her up tonight there's no telling whether or not she'll let me have another chance. I was amazed she agreed to give me this one." John started to put his coat on, which he didn't remember taking off, and hunted for his shoes, which he didn't remember taking off either.

"After the time with the sharks?" Sherlock's grin was boyish at this one. The case he alluded to had been hell.

"Yes, after the time with the sharks I doubted whether she'd ever speak to me again, let alone agree to go on another date." John sighed. He'd worked too hard to try and charm her into this date, he wasn't going to give up that easily.

"Maybe she likes the thrill? If so you've found a better match than I thought." Sherlock tried to make it sound like a joke, but John's trained ear could hear the imminent brooding that lay in wait with that statement.

"No, I got a stern talking to. I'm just charming enough to make up for it." He sent Sherlock a mockingly confident grin. "But all the charm in the world won't help if I stand her up tonight, I'm sure of that much." He'd located his shoes and sat back down to put them on.

Sherlock surprisingly held his tongue as John made his way towards the door. Though, one look at him told John that the great detective had something he was dying to say. Also, he was grinning pretty wildly for someone who was about to be left behind.

"Well, okay then! I'm going to leave now, and there's nothing you can do to stop me." John was almost baiting Sherlock with this one. But the man remained silent, though now even his eyes seemed to be brimming with some unsaid glee.

When John opened the front door he realized why the detective was so silent, but also so ecstatic. No longer able to contain his mirth chuckles erupted from the great detective, something anyone else would never believe the man was capable of. Though they were directed at John's misfortune, so maybe they'd believe him when he told them about it.

Upon opening the front door John was greeted by a wall of snow. Not just a bit on the door step, this was up to John's knees. Now, John wasn't the tallest of men, but that was still a good foot and a half of snow. Everything was covered and the storm was still raging, now that the door was open the icy wind was blowing the snow inside and freezing John where he stood. He realized if he didn't shut the door the carpet would get a new coat of snow covering it. He pushed the door closed against the wind with his good shoulder.

"Bloody hell!" John exclaimed as he shut the door, locking it against the storm for good measure. Sherlock's laughter was finally dying down, were those tears in his eyes from laughing so hard?

"That was absolutely priceless. The build up is what made it so good, thank you John. I don't think I've laughed like that in years. Scratch that, I don't believe I've ever laughed that hard in my life." John was fuming, he walked to the couch, then back to the door, then to the couch again.

"I'm glad my misery can amuse you so, Sherlock." John spat, angrier by the second. Sherlock must have set this all up somehow, the case must have been a ruse. He'd been set up, and for what? All this to ruin his date with Sarah? Which would lead to the end of his unstable relationship with Sarah? John's scowl grew with each moment that passed. Yes, Sherlock had set him up, which made him more determined to go against Sherlock's plans. He had to go on the date with Sarah now, this wasn't even about Sarah anymore, though. This was about proving the great Sherlock Holmes wrong. With this determination he looked at Sherlock, his gaze angry and steady.

"I'm still going on that date with Sarah."

Sherlock's face fell immediately. "How? You can't possibly...?"

John interrupted him. "I'm going out, I'll make it make to London somehow. As long as I get there before midnight we can still have our Christmas eve date. I'll call a cab."

"The roads are closed." Sherlock retorted.

"They can't all be closed. There has to be some open more towards the city."

"The closest road that's open is three and a half miles away, and that's just the road. You'd have to walk another mile to get to any sort of station or pick up spot." Sherlock stated as a matter of fact, as he always did. The laughter was completely gone from his face with no traces that it'd ever been there. Sherlock could tell that John was determined to go outside against the cold, in this storm, with a foot and a half of snow already on the ground. Sherlock surprisingly could not think of something to say that would change the doctor's mind. He'd try in vain anyway, he supposed, though he already calculated his own failure and that scared him.

"You cannot make it that far in this weather."

"Yes I can, three miles isn't that bad and I'm sure I can hitch hike from there."

"No one will be out in this weather, and those who are will not be able to see you on the side of the road."

"Four miles still isn't too bad and if worse comes to worse I have my phone with me to call the police."

"They'll be too busy to help with you."

"I can make it to town. It's not that horrible and I'm wearing my thick coat."

"You're a doctor, you know how terrible freezing to death is and how real the threat is in this sort of situation."

"As a doctor I will know when I've reached my limit and I also know how to brave it better than most, and what to do in case of an emergency."

Sherlock was silent, he had to get John to stay. He didn't think it'd go this far. "Please," Sherlock croaks out, the word foreign on his tongue, "stay here with me."

John pauses, but that look of determination is carved into his face. His mind is on one track, and Sherlock is trying hopelessly to derail it before it reaches that break which leads to a cliff. Sherlock watches grimly as John's mind falls off that cliff at full speed, not registering anything Sherlock has argued. "I'm leaving to get away from you." With that, John turns and leaves before Sherlock can get another word in.

As the door slams Sherlock sits back down in defeat, he'd stood up when John had declared his intent to still try and get back to London. After only a moment of sitting down he gets back up again, heading towards the door. He pauses when he reaches it. He grabs his scarf that was on the coat rack, puts his coat on quickly and opens the door. He's not foolish enough to try and go with John, or even follow him to make sure he's safe. Instead he just catches up with John, placing his own scarf securely around the doctors neck. He has to lean in for John to hear him over the storm.

"At least let me give you this, you need something to protect you neck and face." John doesn't say anything, and he's still glaring, but he doesn't take the scarf off as he continues on his way. Once he's back inside the house Sherlock smiles.

Sherlock calculates that John will go one and one quarter of a mile before turning around and heading back. A total distance of two and a half miles in the snow. He'll be nearly frozen by then, Sherlock must be prepared.

...

John turns back after eight tenths of a mile, knowing full well that he'll have to travel eight tenths of a mile to get back home but a little under two miles is conceivable in his state, as more than three is not. As a doctor he knows this. There are also other reasons why he is turning back, he must admit to himself.

Walking in the snow has given him an ample amount of time to think, surprisingly not about Sarah at all, but of Sherlock. Well, it's not all too surprising, but he wishes it were. At first he thought of those policemen, the one he'd asked to wake him in particular, and how they must have been in on Sherlock's plan and how upset he was with them. Thinking about that, he remembered how he'd woken up. Lying down on the couch, covered by the throw, with his shoes and jacket taken off. It was very unlikely that any of those police officers had done that. There was only one other suspect, and as the suspect himself had once said "once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." It was highly improbable, Sherlock going out of his way to make John comfortable, but it had to be the truth. Had he been at the flat he would suspect Mrs. Hudson, but there was no Mrs. Hudson out here, and it had to have been Sherlock.

Now why would Sherlock go out of his way to make John comfortable. John knew he wasn't as good at deducing as the great detective was, but he was getting better every day. At least, he thought he was getting better even though Sherlock claimed he was not. Anyway, he felt he could figure out this simple problem. Sherlock had made him more comfortable so that he'd sleep longer and therefore be more likely to miss his date with Sarah, which this all seemed to be a plot against. Rationalizing that out in his mind made him feel better.

But then he thought to their conversation. Sherlock had almost seemed concerned when John announced he was going to brave the storm. It was then that John realized Sherlock had even used the word "please." John had only heard Sherlock use that word when in character to get information out of someone. This time it's come forced out of his mouth like vomit, making it genuine. He hadn't been playing the role of a character, he'd really used the word to try and get John to stay. He must have been desperate, then.

There was also the factor of giving John his precious scarf. Holding it to his face John knew it smelt of the man, and in some part of his mind he admitted to liking the smell. If Sherlock was only determined to ruin his chances with Sarah he would not have gone out to just give him the scarf. He would have either tried to follow him or tried to get him back inside. Sherlock would not have given up in defeat, and come out to give him the scarf. This was the deciding factor, Sherlock must have actually cared. Cared about John.

This brought the situation with Sarah into a whole new light. The reason Sherlock was so dead set on ruining their relationship. Before John thought it was because Sherlock found him to be a rather good flatmate and would dread replacing him if he ever got married and moved out. Sarah threatened his bachelorhood and therefore Sherlock felt the need to get rid of said threat. Yet, now it seemed as if there might be something more. John realized what tone Sherlock had used earlier when speaking of Sarah being a better match than he thought, it was a tone of jealousy.

So just how much did Sherlock care? John decided he'd just have to wait and see.

...

Sherlock Holmes was a great many of things, patient not being one of them. When John finally came to the door, knocking before trying the handle which he found unlocked of course, Sherlock nearly found himself jumping up in glee. John had gone just about eight tenths of a mile before turning back, Sherlock assessed when the doctor opened the door and stepped in. The storm had worsened, Sherlock knew he should have accounted for that.

Sherlock was at the door to help the doctor shut it against the wind and snow almost instantaneously. Once the door was shut Sherlock didn't even say a word as he begun undressing John.

"What are you doing?" John croaked out, his voice not working quite right after his adventure in the blizzard. He also had to admit to being a bit flustered.

"You can't stay in these clothes, you'll get sick. I've found you some dry ones." Sherlock said, gesturing to a pile of clothes on the arm of the sofa.

"Did those belong to the man who killed himself? I don't know how comfortable I feel wearing a dead man's clothes." John decided he'd aid Sherlock by getting his boots and socks off. John noticed the thermostat must have been turned up pretty high, and he could feel himself thawing out already.

"I suspected you'd say as much, so I washed them, they just came out of the dryer recently and should still be rather warm. Any argument you make against wearing them will be shot down by simple logic, anyway." Sherlock grinned. "Besides, they belonged to his son."

"His son? But I thought that he'd died a few years back?" John couldn't remember the details of the victim's past very well, but he did remember all of his children were dead.

"He was pronounced dead, but a body was never found." Sherlock actually winked here. "Told you the case was more complicated than it appeared."

"So what happened?" John was really curious now, he must have slept through everything! So if the whole case wasn't a plot against him...

"Clothes, then we'll talk." John was down to his undershirt and pants. The undershirt was dry, so Sherlock left that on him, but started to undo his belt. John swatted his hands away, flushing up rather quickly.

"I can get my pants off myself." John took off his belt and was undoing his fly when he realized Sherlock was still looking at him. "Go on, turn around. I'd like at least a little privacy." Sherlock rolled his eyes but obeyed and turned to face the other direction. John quickly stepped out of his jeans only to find the he'd forgotten to grab the clothes off the couch to change into first. Sherlock noticed this without looking, rolled his eyes again even though he knew John couldn't see him, and passed the clothes to John without turning around.

"Thanks." John mumbled as he pulled the pants on, which were indeed quite warm, if not just a few sizes too big. He took his discarded belt and put it on to remedy this. Sherlock turned back around when he heard John putting his belt back on. He couldn't help focusing on the doctor's scar, which he hadn't actually had the chance to see before. John still had his undershirt on, but it being a tank top allowed Sherlock to see a good portion of the scar. It was interesting. He had a very strange urge to touch it, but resisted.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer. " John teased when he caught Sherlock staring at what was exposed of his scar. He put the turtle neck on over his undershirt, which was also a few sizes too big, but that's how John wore his shirts anyway.

"A mental image has been stored for future reference." Sherlock retorted smiling. He then gave the doctor a look of sudden realization and turned to face the opposite direction.

"Make yourself comfy on the couch, the throw should still be where you left it. I'll be right back." He left the room to venture elsewhere in the house. John admitted to himself that he hadn't traveled into the house at all and had no idea where anything was beyond the living room and the front room which is where the man had been found dead. He wondered if he should follow Sherlock, but was still rather cold so he curled up on the couch and pulled the throw over himself. The snow was melting in his hair, making it damp and cold. John decided he'd venture further into the house to find the loo and get a towel to dry off his head. His ears were ridiculously cold and it wouldn't do to have them stay wet.

John got up and was barely down the hallway before he was intercepted by Sherlock carrying both a towel and a steaming mug of something that smelled like tea.

"Though you might need these." Sherlock stated before depositing the items into John's hands, brushing past him into the living room. It had felt like he deliberately touched John as he passed, but John could have been imaging it. Still, the shock of the physical interaction caused John to flush up for reasons he didn't know if he was ready to admit to.

"Typical of you to be two steps ahead of me." John said as he sat down on the couch, where Sherlock was already sitting. The fireplace was lit up, that along with the thermostat being turned up made the room a very comfortable temperature.

"More ahead of you than just two steps, usually. Especially if we're measuring these steps at your stride." John was drying his hair with the towel, his head feeling much warmer once it was dry.

"You know I don't appreciate your short jokes. I'm not even that short." He put the towel on the arm of the couch as he pulled the throw back over himself, even with the warmth of the house he was still thawing out from being so thoroughly frozen by the snow.

"You're exactly two inches shorter than the average Englishman, about 4 and a quarter inches shorter than I am."

"Yeah, only four inches, I could stand on my toes and we'd be the same height."

"The point is you'd have to stand on your toes." Sherlock gave him a smug smile, John just rolled his eyes. He'd lost this battle.

"Whatever." John reached over to where he'd set down the mug Sherlock had handed him and looked into it. It smelled like tea, it looked like tea. The question was, would it taste like tea?

"I don't know why you're suspicious of the tea I made you. Making tea is a much simpler process than most of the other experiments in the kitchen and turns out right most every time I attempt making it." Sherlock huffs out, feeling a bit put out that his efforts to make John a cup of tea were being treated suspiciously.

"That implies there are times when it doesn't turn out right. And you've never made me a cup of tea before. Also, how you take your tea might not be how I take mine." John quirks his eyebrow at Sherlock, who glares in response.

"We've been sharing a flat for quite some time now, I know how you take your tea. If you'd just take a bloody drink from your glass you'd find it has been prepared exactly as you like it." Sherlock watches as John finally takes a drink of his tea. John is surprised to find that it is exactly as Sherlock says, the tea is perfect, right down to the temperature. Sherlock smirks when he reads the satisfaction on John's face. John doesn't have to know about the seventeen failed tea experiments lying around the kitchen.

"I suppose I could tell you about the case you missed now. It really was quite interesting." Sherlock's smirk turned into a grin, John smiled back warmly.

"I could think of nothing I'd like more than to sit here, on the couch by the fire, drink my perfectly prepared tea, and listen to you tell me about the case." John spoke without thinking, realizing after he'd spoken that he revealed he'd rather be with Sherlock than on his date with Sarah. Sherlock's grin turned into a real smile, which made the blunder worth it.

"Really? Then I won't hesitate."

...

Sherlock detailed the case, where the man who was thought to have committed suicide was actually murdered by his tax evading son. They were in on the scheme together, which is why his son had a room of his own in the house. No one had thought it was strange for the old man to keep extra rooms, and not to clear our his late son's possessions. People spent years in mourning and when they were older sometimes they spent the rest of their lives that way. The son had been careful not to arouse any suspicion of his existence, but the father was paranoid. Kept the son in the house at almost all times, became hysterical when he left. The son was soon driven to madness and killed his overbearing father to escape, trying to make it look as much like a suicide as he possibly could. The temperature had been turned up in the house when they arrived to throw off the time of death, but it hadn't worked very well. Also, a neighbor had seen a man leave the house but hadn't thought anything of it until Sherlock brought it up to her, she'd thought he was a repairman or something of the sort. Sherlock had used this, along with a myriad of his other deducting skills, to track down the killer's whereabouts in just under an hour. They'd arrested the man, Sherlock had come back for John, telling the policemen there was no need to worry about him. Sherlock had only asked one favor. To let him use the house for the night. It was an odd request, but in the end he was granted permission as long as he didn't take anything or mess anything up.

"That's all so strange and interesting, a pity I missed it." John had finished his tea but was still holding the cup and staring at it as if that would make more tea manifest inside of it.

There was a lull in the conversation, a comfortable silence. John broke it awkwardly.

"I know this is going to sound a bit weird, but I guess that means this case wasn't just a whole plot against my date with Sarah." John muttered, finally giving up on the cup magically manifesting tea and setting it down.

"Oh, well, not at first." John shot Sherlock a bemused look. "When I saw you nodding off on the couch it turned into one. I was hoping you'd end this charade with Sarah on your own, but you were taking too long so I took matters into my own hands. I do get bored rather easily, I can't wait around forever."

"Wait around forever for what?" John asked, though by now he knew the answer. He didn't want to admit it to himself just yet.

"For you." Sherlock's stare was intense, almost too much so, but John didn't look away, though he could imagine he was making a face quite similar to that of a deer's caught in headlights.

"Don't look at me like you don't know. You're not that slow. You must have figured out your own feelings by now, at least." John knew his deer in headlights look must have now turned into an open mouth gaping fish sort of look, neither of which could have suited him very well.

"Here, let me rebut your silent protest with simple logic. If at any point I make a wrong deduction, which I assure you I will not, feel free to stop and correct me." Sherlock's grin was self-assured and wicked. He was looking very much like a predator, and John knew he was the prey.

"It was obvious from our first case together that you cared deeply for me, since you killed a man for me. I can safely deduce that you felt a certain attachment to me, one that had formed rather quickly. I realized I felt a similar sort of attachment towards you when you were kidnapped by the Black Lotus, the panic I felt when I realized you were in a perilous situation was much more than I have ever felt before, much more than I would have felt had I just thought of you as a simple flatmate. At this point our relationship can be established as one of mutual platonic attachment, some call this sort of relationship a friendship. Right so far?" All John could do was nod dumbly. "Good." Sherlock couldn't help but be a bit delighted by the fact that he hadn't been corrected about them being friends at that point. He knew they had been, but he'd almost expected John to deny it and claim they'd became friends later on.

"Now, this would be enough for me, a much deeper relationship than I have shared with another person. Yet, it became more interesting with time. A case two months ago revealed to me that the feelings you have towards me might be more than platonic. At that point I wouldn't have said they were not amorous either, though. The case with the three 'identical' murders, where the only thing the victims had in common were their appearances."

"You used me as a lure because I happened to fit the description of the victims."John chimed in, recalling the case in vivid detail. He knew the point Sherlock was about to make.

"Yes, it worked too well. The murderer was closer than I had at first suspected, I was forced to shove you into an alley and shield you with my body. I held you against the wall and hid you from sight using my height and my coat. Only after I'd cataloged the murderer's every feature and watched him walk away did I realize your flustered state. I can now admit I held you there a bit longer than was necessary because of this observation. The flush of your face, the dilation of your pupils, the extra heat radiating off of your body, I hadn't needed to move closer to know the state of your trousers, but I had. When I brushed against you to feel your hard on you immediately pushed me back, luckily the killer had already gone. You mumbled something about personal space, I knew there was more to it than that."

John had tried his best to forget that moment in his life, but it had been constantly replaying itself in his subconscious since then, so whenever he tried to not think about anything it was there to haunt him.

"There was then a case where I realized my own feelings of physical attraction to you, though that moment had already sparked my interest. The case with the missing bus. I'd been in harm's way, and you being the man of action that you are had pushed me to the ground out of the way. It had the unaccounted for effect of you landing on top of me as the bus passed over us. You were flush against me, which you didn't notice since you were so focused on pressing us as close to the ground as possible so the bus could actually pass over us. The force you showed, and your determination, the unimagined heat of your body, I admit to being a bit overloaded by the senses and had you not been so focused on saving my life you might have noticed how my body reacted to your proximity. Once the bus had passed you rolled off of me immediately and almost had to drag me up to lead me to safety, since my mind was uncharacteristically sluggish due the sudden transfer of blood."

John remembered this case vividly as well, but kicked himself for misinterpreting Sherlock's reaction. "I'd thought you were disoriented from the near death situation, you know, as most people would be."

Sherlock actually chuckled at this. "You know that I am not, and never have been, like most people. No, near death situations usually have the effect of heightening my senses and shortening my reaction time. I myself was surprised at how disoriented you made me. It was new, and required further researching."

"So how long have you been planning this, exactly?" John couldn't be annoyed at being left in the dark again, he was too accustomed to it.

"I told you, this case was not a whole plot against you, I'd only started planning after I saw you nodding off." John shook his head.

"No, I mean, before that, how long have you been planning, well, this?" John motioned between the two of them vaguely. Sherlock knew what he meant. Sherlock always knew what he meant.

"Oh, I didn't need to plan anything. I knew it was coming. What do they usually say? I was just waiting for the 'right' moment?" Sherlock's predatory grin was back. John couldn't say he didn't like it.

"I knew there would be an opportunity for further experimentation between the two of us when your relationship with Sarah became stagnant. You had been dating for a little more than two months, and where at first you seemed bent on shacking up with her at the first opportunity, you declined her offer no less than two times to come up with her to her room. You seemed less interested in her, and more interested with keeping up the facade that you were interested in her. All the while I slipped in moments of sexual tension between us, brushing against you 'accidentally,' leaning against you slightly in the cab rides home, all just to gauge that you really were still actually interested in me." Sherlock was able to deduce things about John that John hadn't even known about himself. In hindsight, Sherlock was completely correct, but John hadn't felt like he was just keeping up a charade with Sarah. In this moment, though, he realized just how much of a charade it had been.

"Sherlock, I must admit to you that before now I couldn't bring myself to consciously imagine any form of sexual relationship with you. I have never been with a man, nor felt the inclination to be with one. And yet..." When had Sherlock gotten so close? Their breath was mingling together, and now all John could think about was having sexual relations with this so called sociopath in front of him.

"If it makes you feel any better, I have never felt the inclination to have sex with anyone before you, so I have never been with a man either."

"I don't know if that's comforting or worrying..."

"Oh don't worry, I know how sex works in theory, I've just never put those theories into practice."

John knew this was a very dangerous situation, just this conversation, no contact whatsoever, had him half hard. He really had very little control over this situation. Sure, he could tell himself he was in control, but hadn't he already come to terms with not being able to say no to Sherlock earlier? And who was to say he wanted to say no to Sherlock? This was a very dangerous situation, the kind of dangerous situation John had come to live for.

"Ever think you'll get the chance to put those theories into practice?" John smiled in a way that both amused and turned on Sherlock.

"Actually, I was hoping..." John was done with witty banter, they both knew where this was going. Or, really, not exactly where it was going, but the general vicinity of their destination. John pulled Sherlock into his lips with more force than was absolutely necessary. One of them moaned, or both of them moaned at the same time, either way there were noises which just made them even more eager to get on with it.

John's brain said something along the lines of "to hell with it" as soon as Sherlock placed his hand on his lower back and deepened the kiss. There were probably better ways to go about this, the most obvious one not going about it in the first place, but instead John lifted himself up trying his hardest not to break the contact of their mouths for too long and swung his leg over Sherlock. This gave Sherlock a lap full of John, who was still kissing him and filling his senses. John now had one hand in Sherlock's hair, with the other under his cheek.

The time for pretenses was over, the time for rationalizing things was also over. It was purely carnal at this moment, the heat of their bodies, the slickness of each other's mouths, and the sudden transfer of blood which made thinking almost impossible and most certainly improbable.

There was a fumbling of buttons, the heat in the house plus their own rising body temperatures making them eager to shed their clothes for a few good reasons. Then, with every accidental brush of exposed skin there were moans, groans, until it seemed unbearable, their nerve endings seeming to fire too much for such little contact. Once they were down to just their trousers John couldn't help but wrap his arm around Sherlock and press their bodies together. The feeling was glorious for the both of them, and the stimulation from just the feeling of their bare chests pressed together, their chests rising and falling so quickly against one another, the slight brush of their nipples as they kissed and ground against one another... John was sure he hadn't been this hard in quite awhile and it was all happening so fast. At this rate it'd be like his first sexual encounters as a teenager, where he never even made it past the bedpost before there was a bit of a mess in his jeans.

"Premature ejaculation does seem to be a bit of a concern." Sherlock mumbled against his lips.

"How did you...?"

"If I can read your thoughts through your actions when you're across the room how would I not be able to read them when you're pressed up right against me?" Sherlock kissed from his chin up his jawline to his ear, "That should have been obvious."

"Nothing's quite so obvious when all the blood that should be up in my brain has been diverted elsewhere."

Sherlock just hummed his approval into John's ear, which sent shivers down his spine and left him feeling weightless.

"Sherlock get me out of these pants before I make a mess of them." John breathed as he clutched Sherlock's head against himself. Sherlock hummed against his ear again, the deep timber of his voice making John bite his lip. Despite the order, Sherlock's hand seemed to take the longest route to John's pants possible. First it moved from his shoulder, ghosting over his scar, then swirled around one nipple, then the other, then slowly made it's way down to his belly button, which was surprisingly sensitive, then at last it was touching the small bit of hair above his belt buckle that eventually led down to his nether regions.

"One would... b-believe you'd done this before." John finally managed to get out as Sherlock started to undo his belt buckle.

"I needn't have practice when it seems everything I do to you elicits a positive response." After just barely whispering this into Jon's ear Sherlock let his tongue swipe at John's earlobe as he quickly ripped off the blasted belt.

On their knees pressed against one another on the couch in a dead man's living room doing unspeakable things neither one of them could think of anywhere else they'd rather be, all thoughts of anything else even being remotely appealing on this Christmas Eve were completely obliterated.

Sherlock could not even be bothered to take the pants completely off of John, once the belt was removed they almost sagged past his boxers of their own accord, so Sherlock just yank them down to John's knees, boxers and all. Johns erection was at full attention, the head already weeping the bitter pre-cum that preceded ejaculation.

"My you are close." John could have sworn Sherlock purred that remark, but had no time to even think too much on that particular subject before Sherlock's hand was softly running fingers along his length.

"I have never in my life been this hot and hard for someone." John huffed out, he kept forgetting he needed to breathe.

"Mhhm might explain a bit about your previous sexual encounters, and your own sexual orientation, might it not?" John couldn't even reply, even if he had been able to come up with a reply for that, because just then Sherlock took that hot erection in his hand and gave it a good once over. John's brain completely shut down instantaneously, and then there was nothing but the feel of Sherlock's hand against him as he thrust into his fist unabashedly. Sherlock kissed him passionately, John trying his best to reciprocate but having a tough time just breathing as it was. Sherlock kissed his way down to John's nipple and the effect was so immediate it even caught Sherlock a bit off guard. As soon as Sherlock began licking and sucking his nipple John's climax burst through his body. It was so long, and Sherlock continued his ministrations as John rode it out, his eyes were closed but he could just feel his ejaculate getting everywhere. After what felt like forever, and was most certainly his longest and most intense climax, John finally finished.

He didn't open his eyes at first, decided to catch his breath for a second. When he opened his eyes he found Sherlock admiring his handiwork, the cum all over both of their torsos, the couch, and of course Sherlock's own hand. The great detective, the supposed deducting machine, looked at the substance on his hand as he would any other successful experiment, then proceeded to stick one of the digits covered in cum into his mouth. The sight was so erotic John felt as though he should look away, but of course he couldn't. After another moment of this, Sherlock occupied with the substance on his hand, John mesmerized by the sight of it, John ripped the hand from Sherlock's needy mouth and replaced it with his lips.

Sherlock felt as if he was overheating, it was a fever without the sickness, unrelenting heat pooling up through him from just below his center. He knew there was orgasm, release, but he'd never have guessed it was the build up, the pleasure before the climax, that was so invigorating. John's grip on him was almost tight enough to bruise, so full of raw passion Sherlock had to choice but the bend to his will.

John kicked off his pants, wouldn't want those to get in the way, as he finally unbuttoned Sherlock's trousers. He started to push Sherlock onto his back, and the usually stubborn man was surprisingly malleable. It got to the point where Sherlock removed his legs from underneath himself and they sprawled across the sofa on either side of John. John quickly unzipped the damn trousers and pressed his hands beneath the waistband of Sherlock's underwear, moving his hands around to Sherlock's backside. The soft flesh felt wonderful against John's fingers, but the feel of those fingers did even more for Sherlock. Sherlock lifted his hips in a plea for John to rid him of the last of his clothing and the good doctor happily obliged.

John couldn't lie, he'd thought about being gay before. He'd assured himself everyone had at one point or another, and maybe they did. John was accepting, always thought himself open minded, but even in his own mind when he had caught himself thinking anything homosexual he'd stopped it, nipped it in the bud, labeling it as "wrong." Well, fuck all that, because nothing before this moment had ever felt so right.

John scrambled to kiss Sherlock in that moment, tangling his hand in that curly black hair and pulling the man that lovely hair belonged to into a searing kiss. John then moved his mouth over Sherlock's jaw, to his ear, but quickly made his way to the great detective's neck, because he knew that must have been where Sherlock was very sensitive. And he was so right. Why else does a man refuse to button his shirt up all the way and wear a scarf loosely tied around his neck and refuse to tighten it even when he is ridiculously cold? Sherlock's neck was deliciously long and wonderfully sensitive, and John knew the perfect pale skin would probably bruise the way he was abusing it and that just made him all the more eager to abuse it. From the sounds Sherlock was making and the heat pouring off of him, not to mention the freed erection John could feel against him, Sherlock enjoyed the abuse to his neck.

But John had bigger fish to fry, and so he slowly moved down that beautiful neck to Sherlock's clavicle, then to the middle of his chest, the outwards towards his left nipple then over to his right. John kissed, licked, and sucked his way down Sherlock's torso until he was face to face with the erection at the end of it. He then moved past it, ghosting over it first with his mouth, then with his hands. John placed his hands on Sherlock's hips and held the man down as the licked and nipped his inner thighs. Sherlock was practically thrashing from the sensation, the pleasure actually bordering on pain it was so intense. John's hot little mouth could not place itself on the head of his penis fast enough.

"John, please." Sherlock must have been really desperate, and alarmingly close, if he resorted to niceties.

John let the saliva build on his tongue and then ran it slowly up Sherlock's shaft. Sherlock could not believe how quickly the sensation made his knees buckle, and had John not lied him down first he would have surely fallen at this point. Sherlock knew it wasn't going to take much, and as John swirled his tongue over the slit and then wrapped his lips around the head of Sherlock's cock he was almost done before it even began. Luckily John's hands where there to steady him, otherwise he would have trust immediately into that hot mouth and been done with it. But the dragging out of this long overdue sensation made it all the more pleasurable. Every moment longer than he lasted the more intense he knew his orgasm was to be. But when he was already so close there was only so long he could hold out against that mouth and tongue duo working against him.

Sherlock threaded his fingers into John's hair, "John, oh..." Sherlock tried to give warning but John felt it coming and sucked harder as he readied himself for the oncoming flood. The climax was long, and John had to come up for air but continued to coax Sherlock through the climax, the ejaculate all over Sherlock's stomach, John's hand and face.

John collapsed on top of Sherlock, completely okay with being a sticky, messy pile of limbs. Sherlock eventually placed his hand on the small of John's back.

"You know, I'm much happier right here, right now, than I could have ever been on that bloody date." John finally remarked after a bit.

John could feel Sherlock smile against him, "John how do you always know exactly what I want to hear?"

"I just know how to stroke your ego, is all."

"Oh but you know how to stroke a bit more than that, now don't you?" Even though they were naked, lying against each other, John still flushed red. The way Sherlock said that was so lewd, and yet highly arousing. Just the timbre of his voice was enough to make John a bit hot under the collar all over again.

Sherlock manifested that blanket that had been lying around the couch and placed it over them and in minutes they were fast asleep, post orgasmic bliss making them unaware of how uncomfortable their positions really were and how bothersome the mess all over themselves really was.

...

John learned exactly three years later that Sherlock had recorded that entire event.

"You'll like your gift, trust me, but you might be a bit upset at first." Sherlock's smile held many secrets, John could tell. If only he could tell what the secrets were...

"That makes no sense, it's a dumb hint. We're not kids anymore, I feel I should be able to open my Christmas gift just a bit early. Especially because you've made such a big deal out of it. It'll be midnight in a bit, it's an arbitrary Pagan date, you've said so yourself. Now, give me my present!"

"Ah, I need a promise from you first. Your logic is sound so you give me no choice but to give you your gift early. But first I need you to promise not to get upset with me and storm out of the flat and demand a divorce." Sherlock said all this as he reached into some of the clutter in the apartment and procured a small wrapped gift from the mess.

"We're not married, so I can't demand a a divorce, but I get the point. I would never leave you Sherlock, I'm sure you've put me through worse than whatever this is. Remember the leeches? I remember the leeches, all sixty of them, by name, even though I was asleep at the time. I am sure this can't beat that."

"I'm glad you're in such a positive mood. Here." Sherlock got up from his perch on the couch and moved to the door. "But just in case I'm barricading this." John turned away from Sherlock moving furniture needlessly in front of the door and unwrapped his present. In a clear plastic case there was an unmarked DVD. Just like Sherlock it was needlessly mysterious and dramatic. John turned on the telly and popped the DVD into the player and started it up. The title screen was no more informative, it was bare with just the simple command "Play" highlighted by default. Just as John hit the button to start Sherlock came into the room and handed him a glass of tea.

"You never make tea, and you must have made this in preparation to giving me this. This must be more serious than I thought." Just then John heard himself making a similar remark about Sherlock making tea come from the television and looked up to see the two of them seated apart on an unfamiliar couch. Only, as John realized what he was watching, that couch became more and more familiar, on a very intimate level.

"Sherlock, don't tell me you video taped..."

"I record all of my experiments, especially the more successful ones."

John was silent as the video progressed. They were still just talking, but he knew what was to come.

"How many times have you watched this before now?" John asked as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, which felt unbearably dry.

"I could quantify it, if need be, I have yet to though. Whenever you were gone and I felt you absence unbearable, when we had that fight about the leeches and you actually went to stay with your sister, every time Mycroft abducts you for any extended period of time..."

"Why have you never shared this with me before?" The John and Sherlock on the screen were slowly getting closer to each other at this point, though still just talking.

"I rationalized that it would be reasonable for you to be upset with my recording this without your prior knowledge and consent, and I wanted to be in a very stable point in our relationship before sharing it with you, and only recently realized our relationship has always been very stable, it's our lifestyle that is unstable."

"I am not at all upset that you recorded this. Actually, I should have expected something like this. It's strangely... arousing, watching this." The John on the T.V. had just pulled Sherlock in for that rough first kiss. "I am upset though." It was the John sitting here and now on the couch in their home on 221B Baker St.'s turn to pull that tall, dark haired, infuriating consulting detective into a passionate kiss.

"I'm upset you didn't share this with me sooner so I could have something for when you were away, or busy with experiments, or being difficult." Sherlock clutched onto John's jumper and melted into the kiss, the tension that had been in his body quickly fading away.

"You continue to astound me, John."

"I hope I always will."

**Author's Note:**

> Uploaded from my side account on ff.net, I was going to re-upload it in time for christmas but now it's new years...  
> Also alternate title is "How to seduce John Watson with tea: Christmas edition."


End file.
